Clouds

The clouds tumbled in at mid-afternoon. It was difficult to tell what time of day it was. Hours had passed, Wynn was gone, without even the memory of her voice as a keepsake. I was alone with the clouds. Even old Jeremiah was gone. The wind was the only voice talking, wheezing through the corn, whistling through the cracks in the barn. It was a language that meant nothing to me now.